Understanding Malay voters

Changing demographic: Some were surprised that many urban Malay voters voted for conservative PAS. — AZHAR MAHFOF/The Star

FROM about a year before November’s general elections, right up to the present time, this writer has been inundated with questions about Malay voters, especially those who voted for Perikatan Nasional.

My catch-ups with friends have been intense, and the ones grilling me were urban, English-educated or English-speaking Malays who come from middle to upper middle income families, aghast at knowing their “rural counterparts” dared to vote for Perikatan, especially PAS, which is a component party in the coalition. My acquaintances’ religious leanings vary from liberal and secular to religiously observant Malays – and 90% wanted to know where these “kampung Malays” were from.

“Who were these Malays, how did they end up in urban areas?”

Simple: economics. The movement to towns and cities began even before independence in 1957. By 1967, internal Malay migration was apparent in areas such as Kuala Lumpur and satellite towns like Petaling Jaya, followed by industrial zones like the Kinta Valley in Perak, where mining was the core business.With the newly instated New Economic Policy that came after the May 13, 1969, race riots, more Malays moved to cities and towns to seek their fortunes. Those lucky enough to receive government scholarships to study abroad, came back with degrees and a determination to succeed and improve their lives and their children’s lives.

All this was done with the government of the day creating such economic policies in the “... interest of more equitable development”. (“Urban Interlude: Some Aspects of Internal Malay Migration in West Malaysia” by Judith Nagata, International Migration Review, 1974). This “more equitable development” remains to be seen (“Effects of Government Policy on Internal Migration in Peninsular Malaysia: A Comparison between Malays and Non-Malays” by Yoshimi Chitose, The International Migration Review, 2003). Malays, like everyone else, are not impervious to scamming, corruption and God knows what else.

“They must come from those *&^%$ tahfiz schools!”

With modernisation and the move to urban areas comes the need to instil a holistic education. I quote my colleague’s study on independent Islamic schools, “The Potential of Independent Religious Schools” by Altaf Deviyati (Ideas, 2016), who discussed the viability of such schools being an alternative to government schools.

These are not your mom-and-pop tahfiz and madrasas into which poor children are chucked to gain some semblance of an education (only to be killed by fire, in some sad cases). Some of the discoveries about these independent, private Islamic schools are that the schools have their own boards of directors who hold legal responsibility over the school, ensure that the school is managed efficiently with special regard to finances, and are responsible for fundraising. The principal oversees everything, including hiring and firing, and has a say in the budget, with the approval of the board.

School fees are collected from students, usually less than RM500 a month; there are zakat (alms) collections and private donations – the school board conducts yearly events like fundraising dinners as well as raises money from private donations from parents and during Sports Day.

Parents choose these schools over mainstream schools due to:

> A lack of trust in government schools: Parents feel that government schools do not provide a holistic Islamic education

> Identity-building: Parents wanted their children to espouse good Islamic values.

> Social capital: The close relationship between teachers and students is an added factor.

> Quality education: I attest to this fact because a number of my cousins send their children to these schools, and the grammar Nazi in me is pleased to report that not only do they speak very good English, they write very well too.

At these schools, brotherhood and entrepreneurship are discussed and encouraged. Are these taught in mainstream schools?

“Where do they get their money?”

About eight years ago, a well-heeled Malay businessman who fancied himself a connoisseur of culture asked me sincerely (I think) who funded these “ultra-religious, neo-Malays”. This meeting came at the height of the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant Islamic State of Iraq and Syria’s (ISIS) prominence. At that time, Salafi and Wahhabi Islam came up in conversations about how they had impacted Nusantara Islam, which is considered moderate. Everything deemed non-Malay Islam was funded by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

Except these neo-Malays who have money speak English, are highly educated and are observant of their faith. They receive little to no money from Saudi Arabia; they fund themselves. Abim, Ikram and other like-minded Islamic civil society groups do this. They are not beholden to anyone.

The man who asked me the question was shocked by my opinion. It couldn’t be true that these “unsophisticated and conservative” Malays had money.

Just like how private, independent Islamic schools are funded, businesses and other entrepreneurship activities are also funded this way. See it as Islamic crowdfunding – 30% of your monthly or gross income goes back into your business and into philanthropic activities instead of towards a German car and a mistress (and a plonk or two).

“Where does this ‘sifat perkampungan’ come from?”

In 2020, I met Prof Emeritus Datuk Dr A. Rahman Embong who studied rural-urban Malay migration and wrote about the phenomenon in State-led Modernization and the New Middle Class in Malaysia (Inter-national Political Economy Series, Palgrave Macmillan London, 2002). When he left for Britain in the 1960s to focus on development studies, he was already concerned about the Malays, he said. He wanted to study the social transformation of Malay society, and the 1970s and 1980s witnessed not a burgeoning of a Malay middle class but an administrative Malay middle class.

We need to understand the Malay psyche, which has its roots in village living. The Malay demographic has changed, and there are many Malay areas in the Klang Valley, like Shah Alam and Bangi. Where the heart is, in a paradox, is where their hearts actually are.

“We are ritualistic. There may not be a kampung to go back to, but there is this ritual, every year nak balik kampung,” said Prof Rahman.

In our hearts and minds, we want to go back home. Look at the East Coast states, Kelantan and Tereng-ganu; that urge to balik kampung is a reflection of where the heart is. The Malays need roots to go back to. And when they no longer have a kampung to go back to, they recreate the traditions and rituals in the towns and cities they now live in.

As I explained to an acquaintance who asked why the “sifat perkampungan” of this demographic has not evolved, Malays are a communal society, and this is afforded in non-urban areas where families and friends work, play and carry the weight of problems together.

“They experience a form of social dislocation when they move to cities and towns, which unmoor them from communally shared values typically found in a kampung,” said Dr Azmil Tayeb, a political scientist.

French sociologist Émile Durk-heim called this phenomenon anomie, where there is a disintegration or disappearance of the norms and values that were previously common to the society.

Not needing to care about politics is a privilege. Until it’s not.

Dina Zaman is co-founder of Iman Research, a think tank studying society, religion and perception. This op-ed is not an apologia for Perikatan she maintains. The views expressed here are solely the writer’s own.